I will sing of stately Aphrodite, gold-crowned and beautiful, whose dominion is the walled cities of all sea-set Cyprus. There the moist breath of the western wind wafted her over the waves of the loud-moaning sea in soft foam, and there the gold-filleted Hours welcomed her joyously.

Unhappy Aureng-Zebe is in disgrace; / And your Morat, proclaimed the successor, / Is called, to awe the city with his power. / Those trumpets his triumphant entry tell, / And now the shouts waft near the citadel.

Patrol Magazine says of this Oxford, Miss., band: "Guitars are responsible for every noise in Colour Revolt's mix—not a single note of piano, waft of synthesizer, or evidence of electronic tampering are to be found.[…]"